Fear

This is for a photo prompt for the 100-words Flash #FridayFictioneers. If you would like to join us, come to http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/.   I've managed to do this week's story in 64-words. Yay me!

 
Fear

Fear.

This is what grips me when I see the marbled sphere. Not perfectly round but chipped - worn, its colors lost to age and decay.  Breath quickens as it rolls - tumbling, bouncing over the dents of my scarred wooden table, traveling its long journey towards me to bump against my hand.

Fear.

Not because of a simple marble.

Fear.

Because I am alone.

Grandmother's Picture

This is a photo prompt for the 100-words Flash #FridayFictioneers. If you would like to join us, come to http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ and try your hand. It truly is a lot of fun.

 

Grandmother's Picture

The ornately framed picture hung predominately on grandma’s wall for years, while smaller pictures of her grandchildren hung, like an afterthought, around the over-sized eyesore.

Grandma noticed me studying it with a critical eye.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” she said with a smile.

I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but lovely did not come to mind.

Dark. Gloomy. Despair. Decay.

Her eyes roved tenderly over the framed picture and I could have sworn I saw a light

glow faintly from one of the doors.

 “Soon, my dear George.” she whispered her late husband’s name. “I will be there soon.”

Death in the Mist

This is my first post for the 100-words #Flash Friday. That's right, only 100 words to tell a story that goes with the following picture. Easy? Nope. Fun? You betcha! If you want to join us, come to http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/ and see how far 100 words will go to telling your tale.

Death in the Mist

A loud pop disturbed the quiet of the valley. The horses flew, scattering to the far corner of the meadow. 

They could smell it. Their nostrils flared against the acrid stench.

Death in the mist.

A man stepped out of the swirling mist. It clung heavily to him, becoming a part of him. He wore it like 

a cloak as he moved soundlessly across the meadow. A rifle, spent, dragged forlorn behind him.

The man stopped and looked out across the meadow toward the home he once shared with his wife – 

and slowly faded along with the mist.

Blog of Shame

I renamed my blog from "The art of writing" to "The struggles of writing" for it has been anything but an art form.
I am still struggling to get even one of my novels done. I have gotten pretty far - further than I've ever been, but it's not enough. I want one of my novels DONE. Not done as in edited and polished into something that I can be proud to let someone read. But into an actual finished first draft with mistakes and blunders and all. Finished from A to Z so that I can have the enjoyment of picking at it and make all kinds of changes and editing to it.

So until I can get any of my novels into a finished first draft, the name shall remain "The struggles of writing."